Knot That Pucker (Knotty Puckers #3)

Chapter 1

Bayleigh

The words fly from my hands faster than I can control them—quick, cutting movements that burn hotter than my voice ever could.

My fingers tremble as they sign, frustration overtaking me.

My brother, Benton Lennox—right wing for the Crimson Krakens—stands with his jaw clenched, eyes following the frantic dancing of my hands, trying to keep up.

We’ve been arguing for the last twenty minutes.

He doesn’t think I should go to his game since our parents won’t be there with me.

He thinks that since I’m an unbonded omega, I shouldn’t be alone at such a large event.

I, on the other hand, don't feel the same way. Hence our disagreement. But I’m not giving in.

I’m going. My brother and his team have a shot at making it to the Ice Hockey World Championships, and I plan to be there every step of the way cheering him on.

Benton drags his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends like he’s seconds away from snapping.

His chest rises and falls in sharp bursts, and I catch the low rumble of his voice—just vibrations and muffled echoes without the meaning behind them.

My implant tries to sharpen the sound, but it slips again, fading in and out like a dying radio.

Lately it only gives me pieces, never the whole thing.

I read the storm in Benton’s eyes, in the tight line of his jaw, the way his scent spikes—amber, cinnamon, and pure frustration—rising around us louder than any words I can’t quite hear.

“Stop,” he says, taking hold of my hands, making sure to look me right in the eyes so I can see his lips. “Just talk to me. Use your voice.”

I freeze, my lips pressing together as my throat tightens the way it always does when someone asks me to speak. I can feel the blood pumping through my veins as I become dizzy with fear.

Talk to me.

Three simple words. It shouldn’t be so hard. I mean, I can speak. Sorta.

I know Benton doesn’t mean anything bad when he asks me to use my voice.

He just doesn’t understand how much the past still affects me.

How vulnerable speaking makes me feel. Before I started school, I used to talk all the time.

Well, until I realized how different my voice made me sound.

Until I learned how cruel people in the world truly are.

Since then, I’ve only done it rarely. I know they miss hearing me speak, and maybe one day I can overcome it, but right now I can’t.

I pull away from him, turning as my hands fall to my sides. My fingers itch with the need to sign, to let the anger spill out in movement instead of with my voice. But memories of the past overtake me, hurdling me back to a time when all I wanted was to fit in, yet all I got was cruelty.

My heart pounds against my rib cage, sweat beading on my forehead, and suddenly I’m back inside the eight-year-old version of myself.

Standing at the front of the class, I sway back and forth on my feet; I swallow hard. Mrs. Pearl asks me to read the first few pages of the book out loud. It is supposed to be simple—a few lines from a picture book. But the moment I open my mouth to speak, everything changes.

I barely get out a couple of sentences before laughter erupts.

It starts with Jennifer first, then it spreads through the room.

I see their faces and the way they point and lean into the person beside them, whispering.

My eyes scan the room, trying to make sense of everything through movement alone.

I can’t catch every word, not through the scattered sounds I only half-hear, but I don't have to.

I know what is happening.

They are making fun of me. I drop the book and run from the room, straight to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall. I sit down on the toilet, my face in my hands, and cry.

I can’t stay here forever, but I can't bear facing going back to the classroom. All I want is to go home and never come back. If only my parents would’ve told them I couldn’t speak, then maybe Mrs. Pearl wouldn’t have asked me to read.

Home. I want to go home.

Benton takes hold of my chin, lifting it so I’m looking him in the eyes.

“Bayleigh, calm down. You’re here with me.

” He says each word, making sure I understand exactly what he’s saying.

“Breathe. Just take a breath. Nice and slow. In and out.” I do what he says, and my heart stops racing, calming me from my panic attack.

He smiles at me, then lets go of my chin and begins signing as he speaks. “I know it’s been tough for you being deaf. But you’re safe here. I just want you to speak. To hear your voice.”

I shake my head, my eyes flickering with defiance. He just doesn’t get it. Signing is speaking. It’s how I want to talk. How I feel comfortable.

I watch as the fight drains from his shoulders.

For a brief moment, I think about giving him what he wants. To let him hear my voice, the imperfect one I was born with. To see him smile. But when I open my mouth, the memory of being the laughingstock of the school suffocates me.

Instead, I move away from him, walking over to the window, and gaze outside. The trees shift in the wind, their branches swaying in a silent rhythm. The world is full of movement, speaking without sound.

Turning around, I lift my hands, signing slower now, steadier.

This is my voice. Why can’t you accept that?

“Please… let me hear you. Mom, Dad, me, we all love your voice. We miss hearing it,” he says again, a silent plea in his eyes as he gazes at me.

Maybe this is my chance to bargain with him. He wants something, and so do I.

My hands begin to move, signing faster, but without anger.

Then let me go to your game.

“No, absolutely not,” he answers quickly.

Why? Lots of people go to the games alone. Without their parents. I’m twenty-one, Benton. I’m not a kid.

He glares at me, but it’s not anger; it’s something else. Concern maybe. My instinct is to look away, but I don’t. I force myself to hold his gaze, to show him I’m not backing down from this.

“Bayleigh, you know I’d do anything for you. But that’s not something I can agree to. It's not safe for a packless omega to be alone, especially in a hockey stadium filled with a bunch of hotheaded, horny hockey fans and players. Many of whom are alphas.”

I’ll be fine. I know how to protect myself. My fingers move quickly in response.

“I know you can. That’s not the problem. The problem is you can’t hear if someone is coming up behind you. You won’t be aware of any dangers lurking around you.”

James can come with me. He’ll make sure I’m okay.

He’s my best friend and a much better choice to accompany me than our parents. He’s also one of the only men that Benton doesn’t mind me being alone with, especially since he only desires another male’s appendage versus a female's lack of one.

Benton rolls his eyes. “James is a beta, and a ASL interpreter. He’s not a damn bodyguard."

For a long moment, neither of us moves, nor speaks; each of us holding firm on our stance. The air thickens around us with tension as we continue our stalemate.

“Fine. But I want you to ask me with your voice. Not with signing.” He smirks, thinking he’s won. I’ve been so hesitant to speak that he’s sure I won’t even do it to win our little fight.

My heart thuds in my chest, and I take a few deep breaths to steady it. The familiar tremor of my vocal cords vibrates in my throat. My first sound is barely more than a whisper, rough and uneven. I wince, then try again.

“Can I go…” My voice cracks, and I have to swallow to ease the rawness. “Can I go to your game with James?”

He blinks, a lone tear sliding down his cheek. My brother, the big, bad boy of hockey, shedding a tear for me.

“I don’t talk because…” I hesitate, eyes flickering away, shame rising hot under my skin. “Because it doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound normal.” The child in me wants to stop, to run, to bury myself in a cocoon of safety.

Benton smiles at me, one that’s not only with his mouth, but his eyes. “Your voice is perfect. Anyone who doesn’t think so is an idiot. Just hearing it makes me happy. I’ve missed it.”

My chest feels warm, a gentle tug of safety. Of belonging.

Tears well, blurring my vision. “You’re lying,” I whisper. “It’s ugly. You’re just saying that because you’re my brother.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not. And one day you’ll meet a pack that feels the same way.”

All I can do is stare at him. Could he be right? There’s a pack who wouldn’t laugh or be ashamed of how I sound?

“Can I go?” I ask again.

“Yes. But you stay with James at all times. And when the game is over, he brings you straight to the tunnel, and I’ll meet you there.”

I rush into him, throwing my arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” I mumble into his chest.

“I mean it, James. You’re to be glued to her side all night. No one talks to her, or gets close to her without you butting in.” Benton not only says but signs to James, so I’m fully aware that he knows the conditions of my going to the game.

I turn my head to James, giggling when I see the way he’s glaring at my alpha brother.

“I’m not dumb, Benton. Bayleigh’s my best friend. There’s no way I’d let anything happen to her, much less let any prick alpha get his grubby paws on her.”

Benton clenches his jaw, fighting to control his anger in my presence. It’s not like I haven’t seen him lose his cool on the ice a thousand times.

Okay then, now it’s settled. You need to get to the rink, and we have some shopping to do before we go. I sign enthusiastically as I take hold of James’ arm and practically drag him out of the house.

James opens the passenger door of his car for me, and I get inside as he heads to the other side and gets in behind the steering wheel.

We’re going to have so much fun looking at hot hockey players tonight. James signs rapidly, and I nod in agreement.

I’m dying to get those new flare-leg jeans we saw while we were out yesterday.

I sign to him, practically bouncing in my seat with giddiness.

I still can’t believe I’m going to an actual game without being under the watchful eyes of my parents.

James and I also have tickets for regular seats.

No way in hell am I sitting in the family boxes with the wives, girlfriends and other parents.

And the cute matching top. You need that too. James signs when we stop at a red light.

No, I have to wear Benton’s jersey. But I can always get the matching top for another night. I wink at him.

We’re quiet for the rest of the drive. Especially since it’s hard for us to communicate while he’s driving. As much as I love James, I don’t speak around him either. Those past memories have dug themselves deep within me.

Twenty-five minutes later, we pull up at the boutique. It’s small and in a tiny strip mall, right by the winery we love to go to. Well, since I turned twenty-one, that is. Before then, it was boxed wine at James’ apartment.

Let’s go. He signs to me, and we both get out of the car and head inside. I just hope they still have my size.

The worker beelines to us when we walk inside and starts talking, but she keeps turning her head so it’s hard for me to read her lips.

“We’re just looking,” James tells her while signing for me to know what he said. “If we need any help, we’ll be sure to let you know.”

Her eyes go wide as the light bulb goes off, and she shifts her eyes to me. Her hand goes to her chest as she gives me the dreaded pity face. As excited as I was for the jeans, I want to turn around and leave now.

Nope. Not happening. Let’s get the jeans because they’ll look amazing on you, and then we’ll get some wine. James immediately signs, already knowing what I’m thinking. That’s why he’s my best friend.

Okay, but you’re buying.

I head to the rack I saw them on when we stopped yesterday and, sure enough, they still have a pair in my size. I do a little shimmy of excitement and quickly snag them and the shirt, heading straight to the register.

I immediately hand over my credit card, not giving her a chance to speak, or make me feel less than. She rings the jeans up, then takes the card from me, processing the charge and giving me the card back along with the receipt. She folds up the jeans and places them in a bag.

Thank you. I sign, already knowing she has no clue what I’m saying. I can’t help but smile when James doesn’t even translate for her. He takes the bag from her hands, and we both turn and stroll out of the store.

It doesn’t take us but five minutes to make our way over to the winery and head inside. We opt to sit at a table outside and order a flight for each of us. Who doesn’t love having a sampler tray of different wines?

We probably shouldn’t tell Benton we’re drinking.

James nods in agreement as he cocks his head to the side and sticks his ear out. He’s eavesdropping. I shift my eyes in the direction he’s shifted to and see a group of women who are animatedly talking.

What are they saying that’s so interesting? I ask him, genuinely curious.

They’re talking about the Scorpions.

They’re the team my brother’s playing against.

Tell me more. I sign in response, eager to know the gossip. It's times like this when sign language is amazing. No one ever knows what you’re saying. Well, unless they know ASL.

It seems the Scorpions are hiring a matchmaker for their team. They think by getting them packed up that it will cause the drama to end. It’s some kind of PR stunt to clean up the nightmare of damage that the team has been causing.

I can’t help but laugh. Benton is going to die when I tell him. He and the rest of the Krakens will eat this news up.

Drink up. We need to get you home so you can change before the game. Plus, I know you’d love to catch Benton before he hits the ice and tell him the juicy gossip.

He’s got that right. There’s nothing more I want to do. I pick up a glass and start to drink. Mmm. Mango. My favorite.